


New Shoes

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Foot Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shoe Kink, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: One lazy afternoon sitting around Philippe's rooms gets a little kinky.





	New Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> I never had any intention of writing a Monchevy fic, but I had a sudden inspiration this past weekend while snowed in when I saw a screencap of these two wandering around half dressed in a Season 1 ep. It got weird from there.
> 
> I don't own these folks, but you knew that.

**By Vera d'Auriac**

 

The red satin reflected the sunlight sneaking around the edge of the curtain straight into Philippe’s eyes. It was entirely too much and Philippe decided to tell the Chevalier so.

“Those shoes are a disaster.”

“What?” The Chevalier leaned one hand on the back of a chair to steady himself while he raised a foot and examined it more thoroughly in the shaft of light. “I think they are my best purchase yet.”

“You would,” Philippe mumbled, sinking lower into his hot bath. “How can you possible stand that color?”

“Oh, I am so very sorry, Mignonette, but we cannot all go around in various shades of black and gray.”

At the moment, the Chevalier wasn’t going around in much of anything. Having finished his bath first, he’d started dressing, but with no pressing engagements before them, he’d stopped at breeches, hose, and shoes. Not that Philippe would ever complain about the opportunity to stare at a beautiful male torso. But the shoes were a wholly different matter.

“I’ll have you know my newest jacket is lavender.”

“Which is gray in the language of purple. Admit it—you find my flashes of color intoxicating.”

The Chevalier’s raised eyebrow stirred something in Philippe, but he did not wish to concede quite so easily just because his prick was growing hard. So he would admit nothing, even if on closer inspection he did rather like the design of these new shoes. The heel was sturdy, but a bit higher than what he generally saw men around court wearing. The angle did have a quite nice effect on the Chevalier’s already shapely legs. And the delicate buckles on the three straps across the top of the foot…. Philippe snatched up the washcloth and began washing himself vigorously.

The Chevalier smirked but said nothing before turning and walking to the other side of the room for Philippe knew not what.

“Color might be fine for you,” Philippe called after him, but refrained from looking at the Chevalier’s smooth back, “yet I am quite happy with my own wardrobe. If the cut and fabric are right, there is no need for garish colors. Besides, dark colors contrast nicely with my skin.”

“Mmm. I do have to give you that. But I will not be satisfied until you agree to the brilliance of my new shoes.”

The Chevalier snapped his heels together, and Philippe could not help turning his attention to the other side of the room where the Chevalier was slipping Philippe’s baldric across his bare chest. Once settled, he pulled the sword free and flourished it the way boys always do when their fencing masters have their backs turned. “If you will not see sense of your own accord, I will be obligated make you.”

Philippe’s breath caught and he fought in vain to ignore his hardening prick, the picture presented by the Chevalier just too much. He cleared his throat and attempted to sound nonchalant, but probably landed somewhere closer to petulant boy. “They are brilliant in the same way that the sun is—look too long and you will be blinded.”

The Chevalier took deliberate steps back toward Philippe, still swishing the thin blade. “You love how they look. You think I can’t tell when you’re turned on?”

Dammit. The man was utterly infuriating. And gorgeous and swinging a sword and half naked and those shoes…. Philippe put forth one more effort to hide how exciting and filthy he found the situation. “If I am feeling amorous, it’s because I am thinking about how good my new lavender silk hose will feel on my legs. You know how I love the feel of new silk on my skin.”

“You love the feel of many things on your skin.” The Chevalier had reached the side of the tub, the point of the sword hovering above Philippe’s chest. Philippe stilled himself, dropped his hands into the water, and tried to even out his breathing, the heaving of his chest. “Cool things, like silk, but also steel.”

The Chevalier twisted the sword so that the flat of the blade coasted over Philippe’s upper arm, a tingle radiating through Philippe’s entire being. “You like the feel of cold power caressing your skin,” the Chevalier whispered, as the blade dipped under the waterline and glided over Philippe’s hip. But Philippe felt more than just the steel—rather he felt the Chevalier pushing their boundaries, the shoes merely a symbol that they had become complacent, that they needed to explore the edges of each other once again. Philippe could no longer contain a shuddering breath.

“I’m still uncertain what this has to do with your ugly shoes,” Philippe managed to say evenly, understanding precisely how the shoes fit.

The Chevalier whipped the sword out of the bath, spraying water in an arc. He took a step back, never losing eye contact, and grasped the back of a chair. He whirled it around to the side of the tub and lowered himself onto it. Propping a foot on the side of the tub, he asked, “Perhaps you require a closer look to appreciate them.”

He lowered the tip of the sword to Philippe’s shoulder.

Beneath the water, Philippe’s hands frantically clutched the washcloth, desperate to control his pounding heart and now fully erect and aching prick. He loved this exploration of theirs, and he knew it was always most satisfying when they both pushed the limits of their desires. Yet he longed for the Chevalier to touch his prick, for their bodies to make contact, for the sword to pierce his skin. Philippe gathered the shreds of his composure. “They do improve without the sun reflecting off them like some mirror of my brother’s. Still I cannot say I like them.” In point of fact, Philippe now loved them, and longed to cradle in his hands the foot on the edge of the tub and bite the ankle just above the top strap. But he could not move with the sword still at his shoulder.

The Chevalier dropped his foot, the heel clacking loudly on the marble floor. “I do not believe I can allow your want of taste to stand.” The flat of the blade slipped over back over Philippe’s shoulder and then to the front again. The Chevalier tensed and bit his lip before scraping the tip along the front curve of Philippe’s shoulder. The blade was sharp and the Chevalier gentle, and Philippe did not know for certain he had been cut until he felt the thin line of blood start running down his chest.

Philippe broke eye contact with the Chevalier for the briefest moment to glance at the blood seeping from the cut, his whole body now aching with lust. “You know, I think you are right—a little red is a good color on me.”

The hand holding the sword trembled and the Chevalier whimpered. Philippe could see the tenting of the Chevalier’s breeches and decided now was the moment for him to push the Chevalier’s boundaries. With the washcloth wrapped around his hand, he reached up and knocked the sword away. The Chevalier’s quivering fingers let it clatter to the floor. “Come. Taste it. You know that’s why you did it in the first place.”

The Chevalier fell to his knees at the side of the tub, and without a moment’s hesitation, his tongue, starting at the waterline, licked the trail of blood up Philippe’s chest to its source. Philippe squeezed the washcloth violently one final time and released it into the water, freeing his hands to thread their way into the blond curls brushing his chest. “Yes, that’s what you’ve been hoping for all afternoon, isn’t it? Go ahead. Suck. Just know you’re going to help me out of here after to suck something else.”

The Chevalier’s lips enveloped the small, shallow cut, creating a gentle suction that Philippe had no doubt went as straight to the Chevalier’s prick as it did his own. One of them moaned. “If you’d like,” Philippe said hoarsely as the Chevalier’s tongue licked across the cut, “when I get out, I’ll even put on the shoes.”

The Chevalier kissed the cut and then looked up, licking his lips, a hint of red at the corner. “I think not. You do not appreciate my fashion sense and have wounded me deeply. Besides, I believe you were not entirely wrong earlier when you mentioned how striking black looks against your glorious skin.” His hands flew over Philippe’s chest and arms to emphasize the love of this pale flesh.

Philippe could feel his upper hand slipping away, but he did not know if he had the control to keep this game going and not beg for a few good, hard yanks that would have him coming quicker than a teenager. “Get me out of this bath, now.”

The Chevalier, tips of his curls dripping from falling in the bath, jumped to his feet, offering his hands to help up Philippe. Fingers entwined, Philippe stood, water streaming from his body, but neither his robe nor towel were anywhere in sight. He cared not, and stepped out onto the slick floor. “This may prove dangerous,” Philippe said, also now realizing how close he’d been to planting his foot on his carelessly discarded sword.

“Then you must sit.” The Chevalier spun him around and settled him into the chair he’d brought over. “Allow me to fetch you appropriate footwear.”

Philippe grinned, slouching naked in the chair, on fire with anticipation of what might come next. The Chevalier opened a wardrobe, and without a care, began flinging articles out as he searched for whatever he might deem “appropriate footwear.” Watching the beautiful waves of hair brush along the soft back, muscles working, the Chevalier’s silly curses muttered under his breath, filled Philippe with longing. He once more had to clench his fists tight so as not to take hold of his prick that very second.

“Ah! Finally, what I was looking for.” The Chevalier stood and spun around, Philippe’s new black leather top boots dangling from his fingers.

“Don’t you think those are a bit much? My feet are not in that much danger.” Of course, Philippe did not believe a syllable of what he’d just said, already loving the feel of the soft leather all the way up to his thighs, knowing what the sight would do to the Chevalier.

“You are a prince of France! Your safety can never be overly cared for. It is all about you, Mignonette.”

Philippe grinned, but stifled his chuckle with a lick of his lips. “Your thoughtfulness is noted.”

“Why thank you, your highness.” The Chevalier had reached the tub once more and fell to his knees at Philippe’s feet. “If you would allow your humble servant to place these boots upon your feet, I would be most honored.”

The quirk on the Chevalier’s lips made it impossible for Philippe not to laugh this time, but he quickly suppressed it. “I would be most pleased if you did.”

The Chevalier picked up Philippe’s left foot and brought it to his lips. He kissed the ankle, ran his fingers over the top, licked the arch, sucked the big toe into his mouth. Philippe melted lower into the chair as each of his toes in turn received similar treatment. With the Chevalier settled back on his haunches, Philippe could not reach him with a hand. But he could stretch out his other foot and rub it up and down the Chevalier’s side.

“You seem to have become distracted from your stated mission,” Philippe moaned, his prick aching and heavy against his stomach. In a moment he would surely grab it himself. As much as he wanted this encounter to last, he needed to get it moving along before he burst. “You do not believe that is what I intended you to suck when you took me from the bath, do you?”

The Chevalier released the pinky toe in his mouth with a wet pop. “I beg your forgiveness. I shall swiftly see to your safety and set to work.” Resting Philippe’s foot on his shoulder, the Chevalier took up the boot and then shifted to slip Philippe’s foot inside. The Chevalier had done well selecting the new pair—the black leather still shiny and soft. He pulled the boot all the way up and over Philippe’s knee to where it caressed his thigh. The Chevalier’s fingers lingered there at the top of the boot, and Philippe longed for a brush of those fingers over his prick, but the Chevalier settled back again and placed the other boot on Philippe’s right foot.

“There,” the Chevalier said, patting Philippe’s right thigh. “Now you are safe, and I can proceed with what you requested before I removed you from the bath.”

In the heady mix of sucked toes and boots, Philippe barely cared about his exact request, so long as he was about to receive attention for his needy prick. The Chevalier snatched a blanket one of them had carelessly tossed to the floor earlier to kneel upon at Philippe’s feet, and Philippe spread his legs to welcome the Chevalier to his body. Hands on Philippe’s thighs, the Chevalier bowed his head and swallowed Philippe’s grateful prick.

Every muscle in Philippe’s body tightened and he had to close his eyes so he would not see the Chevalier, would not become any more inflamed, or he’d spend this very second. The Chevalier went about his business in a lazy manner, lightly sucking and randomly licking Philippe’s prick, happy hums escaping his lips. But he swirled his tongue around the tip, cleaning off the wetness that had nothing to do with the bath. His nonchalance made Philippe ache all the more.

When the Chevalier let Philippe’s prick drop from his mouth so he might kiss his way down to the top of the left boot, Philippe growled. “Will you get down to your business already?”

Blue eyes, attempting innocence, flickered up at Philippe. “I thought you might wish for a respite, so we can take our time, but if you wish for me to suck you dry this very second, I will oblige you.”

Growling incoherently was far easier than words, so Philippe laced his fingers into the Chevalier’s hair and pulled that beautiful mouth down onto his prick once more. And this time, the Chevalier gripped him with one hand around the base to steady Philippe while he set to work in earnest. This time there was no teasing, just deep, hard suction, the pace gradually increasing toward a frenzy. Philippe couldn’t sit still. He planted his booted feet on the floor, and with the hand not lost in the curls, he braced himself on the chair and thrusted up as he yanked the Chevalier’s head down. With the Chevalier holding him steady at the base, Philippe knew he couldn’t force himself too deep into the Chevalier’s throat, so he snapped his hips up hard, pulled the Chevalier down as forcefully as he desired. He trembled, and the Chevalier somehow managed to suck harder, and Philippe lost all control and spent and spent down the Chevalier’s throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Philippe mumbled through barely working lips. He felt completely done in, as though he might never move again.

The Chevalier leaned his cheek against Philippe’s thigh. “If you’d wanted to fuck, you should have said so.” Philippe opened his eyes to see the Chevalier’s mischievous grin. “Well, I supposed I could still fuck you, if you’d like.”

In the afterglow, Philippe nearly told the Chevalier to do as he wished with his boneless flesh. But this had begun as a delicious exploration to the place beyond their everyday, and Philippe forced himself to rally. “I think you fucked with me enough today.” With a burst of speed the Chevalier clearly failed to anticipate, Philippe swooped down and took up his sword in his left hand. Pointing it at the Chevalier, he commanded, “Strip. Well, not the shoes.”

“I knew you would come around,” he smirked. The Chevalier shifted back and undid his breeches, including the buttons below the knees, so that he might get them over the shoes. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t bothered with any underclothes, so after a moment of wriggling on the floor and flinging away the empty baldric, he sat naked at Philippe’s feet wearing nothing but silk hose the pink of a summer sunset and the satin shoes. “What would you have me do next?”

The playful subservience would have made Philippe hard at any other moment. As it was, a fire for the Chevalier still burned in his stomach. “Now that I have the sword and I am sitting, I do not believe there is any further danger to my royal person. Take off my boots.”

The Chevalier frowned, clearly loathed to give up the sight before him, but Philippe would not submit—an idea had come to him of something they had somehow never done before and he refused to give it up. Philippe gave him a cold stare until the Chevalier finally sighed. 

“As you command, Mignonette. But I really wonder if you’ve any idea what you look like.”

Philippe wanted to say, “I know what I look like—I see if reflected in your eyes.” But this afternoon’s play had no room for that sort of sentiment. Philippe would tell him later. For now, he grinned harshly. “I don’t recall that mattering to whether or not I should be obeyed.” He tapped the flat of the blade against the Chevalier’s upper arm. “Remove the boots.”

The Chevalier dipped his head and did as he was told. He peeked up a few times, but did not make eye contact again until he finished and settled back on his heels. And then, he smiled wickedly. “I apologize for hesitating. You, of course, appear to even greater advantage completely nude.”

“Come closer,” Philippe purred, spreading his legs to admit the Chevalier. “Are you comfortable?”

“There is nowhere I would rather be, unless it made you happier.”

Philippe licked his lips and rubbed a foot over the Chevalier thigh. There was not much space between the Chevalier and the chair, but Philippe could peer between the two. “You’re so very hard. Let me see if there isn’t something I can do about that.” He dragged his left foot so that it now rested where the Chevalier’s legs met. With just the slightest pressure, the Chevalier’s legs parted to allow Philippe’s foot between them. Philippe sank down in the chair so that he might slip his foot underneath the Chevalier’s balls.

Philippe felt the Chevalier’s legs shake, belying his even gaze. Philippe lightly pressed his other foot on the Chevalier’s erection, pinning it to the Chevalier’s body and smearing his stomach with pre-cum. The Chevalier’s breath quickened as Philippe fondled him with both feet. He splayed the toes on his right foot, able to capture the Chevalier’s prick between his big toe and the one next to it.

“Are you ever going to argue with my requests again?” Philippe asked.

The Chevalier’s eyes rolled back as he shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Philippe pressed more against the Chevalier’s balls while wishing he could manage a more coordinated stroke with his right foot. “You’re allowed to touch me, you know. If we need a little help.”

Without a second of hesitation, the Chevalier wrapped his hand around Philippe’s right ankle, providing the motion he needed. He pressed harder than Philippe would have dared. Philippe longed to do more for him, so he reached across his body where the sword still hung in his left hand. Taking hold of the hilt with his steady right hand, he brushed the pad of his left pinky on the edge of the blade. Carefully, he lifted the sword over the Chevalier’s bowed head and tossed it safely away.

“I have something else for you,” Philippe whispered.

Never pausing in the strokes with Philippe’s foot, the Chevalier looked up, eyes unfocused with passion. His lips where wet and slightly parted, and Philippe smeared blood from the fresh cut on his finger across the Chevalier’s lips as though applying lipstick. The Chevalier’s eyelids fluttered closed and he moaned before sucking Philippe’s finger into his mouth. They were both lost in the perverse delights of the moment—sharing so much the world considered taboo, because they were compelled to share all of themselves with the other, sparing nothing. They pushed and squeezed, sucked and groped until the Chevalier’s ecstasy overcame him and Philippe could barely remain upright in the chair for passion.

Shaking, the Chevalier collapsed against Philippe’s thigh. At some point, Philippe had threaded the fingers of his right hand into the Chevalier’s hair, and he petted him lazily. His feet were sticky and he still hadn’t recovered from his own orgasm, but the urge to ravage the Chevalier further remained. If only he could move.

“We might both need another bath,” the Chevalier mumbled into Philippe’s thigh before giving it a kiss.

“And forego having the scent of your love seeping into the hose I intend to use to tie you to the bed later? I think not.”

The Chevalier purred. “I promise to never question your suggestions again.”

Philippe leaned down and kissed the top of the Chevalier’s head. “Good. Then help me pick something to wear that will go with red shoes.”


End file.
